Dusk to Dawn
by FrostedMelody
Summary: The first time Shirou and Saber found the Grail would haunt them for years to come.
1. Dusk to Dawn

_**A/N: This contains spoilers for Fate:Grand Order's Camelot chapter and Fate/Extra, and assumes you have at least some knowledge of Fate/Stay Night or Unlimited Blade Works.**_

* * *

They stand at the ruins of the church, watching what remains of the world's evil melt against the black night sky. It bubbles and growls, almost sounding like the deep refrain of a priest's sermon.

However, Kirei's services are no longer needed, for Shirou Emiya and his Saber class Servant, Artoria Pendragon, have won the Holy Grail War. Silence weighs heavily against them – Saber's time is nigh, and her contract should end soon.

After all, she found the Holy Grail. Or that's what Shirou thinks, but he looks at her and her lips are pursed tight, her eyes devoid of joy, her throat arched as if trying to push back a scream.

He wonders if she sees the same in him, because all the times he's seen those little hints – when they've talked about their shared dreams, between chats while sparring, and sometimes even when he's just cooking dinner. They've always carried a cordial, friendly air to them that he's happy to respond to, but _why didn't he ask her out on the one day he could've…?_

He doesn't get to finish that thought, as Saber opens her mouth.

"Shirou, I…"

"Saber …"

Their unspoken words are left in a shower of golden dust, as she fades into the fabric of time and space.

He clenches his fists and swears to never hesitate again.

* * *

Sir Bedivere does not return after he leaves the third time. Just like she has with Lancelot, Guinvere, _(and Shirou, because she could've told him much, much earlier)_ she silently forgives him. In war, anyone's heart can crumble with time; his pure one ( _the reason she wished he preside at the Round Table_ ) simply cracked after it was over.

She stands up, her cracked breaths steadying as residual blessings of eternal youth wash over her; a telltale sign that Excalibur still exists within this world. Perhaps it is by this miracle that she still stands and breathes, but it is her last as King Arthur – hero, king, ( _unrequited love)._

Without Avalon, she cannot be mortally wounded, and without Excalibur, she can die of mortal age.

 _And without a desire of her own…._

Artoria Pendragon clutches the bandages on her chest, and begins a slow and steady walk out of the Garden of Avalon.

Had she looked back, she would've realized that her body still remained under the tree, her face forever frozen in grief.

* * *

It has been two years since Illya has departed from this world. He throws himself into mastering Gradation Air, as he knows it's the only thing keeping him at the Clock Tower under El Melloi's watchful eye. Sometimes Tohsaka looks at him as if she's seen a ghost.

He doesn't blame her – between the tanned skin from repeated Magic Circuit use and his narrowed frown ( _when he_ _fails to recall Caliburn's shape again),_ he's a bad hair job away from looking like a former acquaintance of theirs.

At least, that's what he tells Luvia when she bounces up to him, her rich German accent and long blond curls swirling around him with her latest fashion statement. The peach-colored dress is formal but betrays hints of purple here and there, teasing him with thoughts of a night filled with a tart taste against his tongue.

He brushes aside the imaginary sword at her side and slides a hand around her waist, letting hidden feelings stay buried under Tohsaka's angry _(but pitiful)_ glare.

* * *

Mordred's gaunt, tear-stained face has long dried when she arrives back at Camlann. _( It is not the first crying face she has seen this month.)_ The kingdom is falling into ruin and the looters have already passed this battlefield, leaving nothing but rotting flesh in their wake.

For the first time in her life, she is grateful that Mordred's _(her son's)_ armor was custom made to fit her small frame. Without her helmet, she could easily be mistaken as one of the many women who masqueraded as a man to join a cause worth fighting for, only to find an unjust end at the end of a lance.

Her lance, Rhonghomyiad, which loses any signs of blood and scratches the moment it recognizes her touch. She pulls it out, as it hums a soft whispered tones of ' _poor child, poor king who could not change the world...'_

She ignores the imagined mockery _(or would he have pitied her the same way?)_ and heads off, her shoulders a little taller and her muscles feeling a little thicker.

* * *

Politics are politics, and he has had enough with Mage families and the desire to shed blood to cover up even the slightest embarrassment. Even El-Melloi's hushed, stern tone does nothing against the council as they proclaim Shirou too incompetent to advance any further in his studies.

He's lucky he didn't end up with a Sealing Designation instead, though he suspects it is because the tests never demonstrate any unusual aptitude. Tohsaka has a better word for it _(bullshit)_ but he honestly didn't think his home was here, anyway.

 _(It's at her side, in a grassy garden under a forever green tree, as they laugh over her queries of what a swimming pool is and he asks what she wants for dinner.)_

Luvia cries, but her resigned face suggests that she knew this inevitable. Her bloodline's magic is too valued for her to endanger the aristocracy _(and she probably realized he was chasing someone else, anyway)._

Tohsaka waits for him at the end of the hall, as he drags his last suitcase out to the cab. Her long formal red dress garishly clashes with his rough, khaki jacket and pants.

For one last time, they stand under the same umbrella and the same history as Masters of a Holy Grail War.

"I'll see you again?" She states quietly. It's not a question.

He nods, a tanned rough hand reaching out to grab her smooth yet firm one. He wonder if it's his imagination when he feels a small tug.

"You don't have to go alone, you know." She exhales, sliding his red mage's coat over to him, her eyes narrowing with years of experience and wisdom. "I'm here. Luvia's crazy enough to run away with you if you tried. Sakura and Taiga are back home."

He doesn't have the heart to tell her that he doesn't remember what the sparring room looked like anymore.

* * *

Morgan's magic has no effect on her any longer. ' _You can rely on me'_ , the spear at her hand whispers, as her sister, the envious magician, flees a broken, terrified wreck. ' _No one else knows your heart and soul like I do.'_

She slams the spear's point into the ground as if to silence it, but her remaining loyalists take it as a sign of fury. They scamper before the older fallen king, her once youthful eyes underlined by wrinkles as she holds a hand up, telling them not to pursue Morgan _(because a king exercises restraint)_.

' _But what would the girl do?'_ Rhonghomyiad trills in a leering voice. _'Poor, poor country girl, who lost her whole home due to a sister's childish whims.'_

She is no longer thirteen years of age and has no more time for imaginary friends. Thirty year old Artoria Pendragon turns around to the few dukes, housecarls, and knights that still stand at attention, fighting for a kingdom long lost.

Their descendants tell tales many years later in dim keeps and knotted forests, saying that the king simply disappeared into the horizon, her tall, proud figure never to be seen again.

* * *

Sakura ensures that he calls her often. As she knows firsthand, prolonged isolation in horrible conditions is the first step to losing touch with the rest of the world.

The man that gets in front of the webcam today is very different than the one that had helped the police kick down her door and arrest Zouken Matou for child abuse. His eyes burn with determination over an unseen war against unseen forces, but today they also have a strange hollowness to them – one that reminds her too much of a time she'd rather forget.

"Senpai… what happened?" She uses that old tone, filled with concern for him. It doesn't matter if his bright red hair has been scorched white from goodness knows what – if his spirit to save others has been shaken, she will be there, just as he was for her.

He ends up breaking down and confiding in her about the nuclear reactor, about whether selling his soul is the right thing to do, about if a suspicion he has about his future is what he thinks it is.

"You should just…try to do what you can for everyone, Senpai." She tries to console him, not fully understanding, but thinking back to the times he's helped her after that fateful day. "That's what you did for me."

She starts to worry when Taiga says it didn't sound like he fully understood either.

* * *

Richard the Lionheart is a child playing at being a brave king. He has no idea how to rule, and he knows Robin would be shaking his head now if he had lived to see the temporary truce he forged with Saladin to purge the vampires among their ranks. It is another temporary ally towards another common enemy to hide his own lack of talent.

That is why he is completely unprepared for even more of his and Saladin's men spurting bright red eyes from their necks and legs and places eyes should not be, proclaiming themselves servants of King Amon as they torch the land in the ancient figure' name.

He is bleeding out against a ruined wall when a knight riding a bright horse rides in, the reinforcements slaughtering the blackened oozing figures he once knew as the Crusaders. They bear a coat of arms he has seen from the storybooks, but it is the singing golden lance and her stern, hawkish face that makes him believe.

King Arthur Pendragon stands in front of him, witnessing his failure to stave off the demons that corrupted the noble men that fought for the Holy Land.

He tries to apologize – for failing, for being an insult to _her_ name, but she holds a hand up to his mouth, her golden hair dazzling like the sun.

"You may rest." She speaks, a flat, regal tone that sounds nothing like the brash and compassionate king he imagined her to be. "I shall cleanse this tainted ground, and rebuild it anew."

He does not hear the anguished screams of everyone around him; he merely sees his men ascend to heaven on bright beams of light.

* * *

Kiara Sessyoin sits in her control room, vial of neurotoxin at the ready. Her journey of salvation will end here, as her worshippers, glistening with sweat from their stained white robes, throw themselves desperately at the dark-skinned, middle aged man who guns them down without a second thought.

She finds the idea that someone would deny themselves a grand, fulfilling life of pleasuring her foolish. However, she supposed it was impossible for her to grant _everyone_ salvation, especially if someone could be that afraid of dying for her love.

After all, for all the paths one can take, there must also be a way to fall off such paths. She wonders if she should attempt to seduce him one more time – he clearly has _some_ grasp of sexuality, and just a bare knowledge of the concept is enough for her to twist highly trained intelligence agents around her finger.

It is when he bursts through the door and sees his eyes in her dying breaths that she finally understands that Mr. Emiya is forever chasing someone else. He may bend to the false bodhisattva's will, but it is it not her that will break him. His black PMC uniform and pistols hover before her eyes, but she knows he will be too slow, fighting off her sweet, pheromone-laced perfume with images of his nonexistent lover as her spasms end and her visions go dark.

It is why she does not expect the flash of an engraved, ornate blade to be the last thing she sees, accompanied by a tearful whisper of "I'm sorry, Saber."

* * *

"They will come to understand the Holy Selection." The Goddess of Rhonghomyiad, no longer King Arthur, thunders, her powerful yet compelling voice causing every worthy man and woman in the throne room to stand at attention. "You will have everything you want to eat, everything you desire to work for, and no demons to plague your lives, human or otherwise."

They cannot doubt her, for she has already shown them that with a wave of her hand, Camelot's inner white walls contain gardens with golden fruits tasting like ambrosia and meat with juice that could meat in your mouth. _(As she loved to tell…whom? She had once told someone it did not matter where the meat came from, as long as it was delicious and clean…)_

Another loud wave of protesters reach her attention beyond the layers of blessed brick. She bids her subjects farewell and mounts Dun Stallion, heading towards the outer wall.

Her melodious voice stops half the protestors in their tracks, standing in awe at the Goddess-King as the smoky ashes of Solomon's thwarted attempts to incinerate this timeline waft into her nose.

 _(If she was still human, she would've choked. Not that she remembers what choking is.)_

It makes her subsequent scrying and purging of the impure ones that much easier. Their skin color and origin do not matter – if the holy power in her deems them pure, she can preserve them _(And her memory of Camelot)_ beyond the universe's death.

Would she hesitate if it was…that person? She clutches her head _(her new knights are too awed to notice the slight movement)_ and tries to remember who she meant.

All she can remember is that she was not referring to a knight.

* * *

As they return to the repaired Grail War in S.E.R.A.P.H., Archer is glad that he doesn't have to explain to Hakuno how Kiara Sessyoin's death in real life results in him being handed the death penalty in 2040. At least he understands now who thwarted her cyberterrorism activities back in 2030.

He'd hoped to put his previous attempt to kill Shirou behind him _(and he tries not to think of the other possibilities he's lived through in his dreams)_ , but it was just his luck that he'd get summoned into a warped Grail War involving one of Rin Tohsakha's strangely identical descendants.

Hakuno, ever the master of observation _(and his current Master, he reminds himself),_ naturally starts to query him.

"What's your relationship with Rin, Archer?" The bubbly brunette faux innocently asks, her playful brown eyes sparkling from under her messy brown hair. Archer tries to say something about a comb but instead falls off his already tilted chair _(because BB reminds him that somewhere out there, Shirou Emiya grows up, gives up his ideals, and saves someone he can realistically save)_.

"Just so you know," He snarks, "I fell out of my chair because I lost my balance, NOT because of your question."

Hakuno's smirk, a brown crescent against a moonlike face framed in a sea-blue window, tells him she wasn't convinced at all.

"Oooookay." She drawls, giggling. "But you are trying _**way**_ too hard to act disinterested in Rin."

 _(Well, that's not wrong. I fought with someone like her, loved someone like her, and protected someone like her. Three times…maybe more.)_

"She's your type, isn't she?" Hakuno pushes beyond any defense he's ever prepared in his life, probably all because he let something show on his face.

"Objection!" He retorts, half-jokingly. "On what grounds?"

"Methinks the brave Archer doth protest too much, or are you leaning forward dramatically for no reason?" Hakuno waves her hands in one of the worst Shakespeare impressions he's seen in his many lives.

"Ah, I apologize." He chuckles. "I'm not normally this immature." Hakuno thankfully relents, but she leans back expectantly. He hasn't answered her question.

He clears his throat and sighs. Perhaps he can manage with a half-truth.

"Listen, Master. That girl has got enough ego to fill a concert hall, and that's not exactly a turn-on. My type would be more…" _(He tries to think of anything his first love wasn't, and another love comes to mind.)_

He's not sure what kind of motion he meant to make, but Hakuno's snickers confirm that it looks far too much like he's pretending BB is right in front of him. _(Thankfully, she relocated back to the nurse office as 'Sakura'…)_

He gives a sigh of defeat and puts his hands behind his head, as Hakuno gets up to pat him on the back. "Nevermind what I said, Master. I feel like no matter what I say, I'll dig my own grave."

"That was the idea, pretty much." She chuckles.

 _(What was the name of his first love, though?)_

* * *

The Goddess-King dully recalls a feeling of resent when she finally summons Mordred to this era. Ever oblivious to her king's distrust, the once rebellious child eats up her commanding song like the sweetest honeycake and happily heads straight for the wastelands to purge any remaining resistance that has been potentially contaminated by Solomon's efforts to pollute history.

 _(If she remembered another time when a weaker boy threw himself in front of her, she would've been furious at Mordred.)_

Gawain, Lancelot, and Tristan return from an expedition, and Agravain, his dusky hair contrasting sharply against her citadel's pristine walls, informs her that the dragon meat not of this era is ready to be cooked. She wonders if Gareth will complain about Gawain's potato soup again at dinner...

' _Gareth is dead. You had Tristan put an arrow between her eyes for rebelling against you.'_

The lance only speaks when something stirs in her. She doesn't remember what the feeling is called, but _something_ tells her that perhaps she could've tried reasoning more.

' _No. The only way forward must be carved without hesitation. Do you wish for Camelot to fall again?'_

"A king without greed is even worse than a figurehead." She whispers quietly, though she has long forgotten who would dare tell her such a thing.

As the surviving Knights of the Round gather for dinner, the Goddess-King, her eyes sharpened with clairvoyance, grimly notes that two knights never answered her calls to the Throne of Heroes.

She peers back into the first Singularity, over a flame-razed town she somehow recognizes, and notes that that blackened, _but still human_ , effigy of her has been defeated, and that Chaldea has been informed of Solomon's plot to eradicate humanity.

"When the foreign star shines, the walls of Camelot will crumble." Only one of them can be humanity's saviors, and it is only a few months before she will find out which group is correct.

' _As if a young brash boy that wants to save everyone could be remotely correct.'_ The lance trills with mocking amusement.

* * *

When he first came to Chaldea, he was genuinely shocked to find that he had been tasked with saving humanity in such a…work-friendly environment. The remainders of humanity, despite his previous witnessing of their panicked attempt to defeat him and a corrupted Saber _(how long has it been since he has remembered that name?)_ , had recovered quickly.

He admittedly suspected Cú Chulainn's quick arrival had something to do with it. Despite being dressed in what he considered a ridiculously unfitting garb for the Lancer _("It's 'Caster' now,"_ _ _Cú_ would groan, before launching into an hours long tirade of how Cú Chulainn could even be summoned as a mage)_, it wasn't long before he was surrounded by allies new and old, including the face of a woman he once loved.

" _The Archer cloaked in red... To be able to fight with him is pleasing, but also sad. Whatever path in life he has chosen, that Heroic Spirit is destined to continue fighting."_ It is a decidedly neutral answer, born of a copy straight from the Throne that has received information from the previous Holy Grail Wars but none of the feelings.

He struggles to remember Rin's original lecture about Saber's pact with the World. Shouldn't she remember more clearly than him, of all those other times they'd fought on the same field in Fuyuki?

The smile she gives him is wistful, as if she is struggling to recall bits and pieces of it all. Da Vinci rattles off some explanation about Saint Graphs lacking corresponding human history to properly pull from due to the damaged timeline, but it flies over his head.

Months pass, and he realizes with the lack of memories comes innocence. She makes a silly movie about "The War of Sabers" with Da Vinci's hologram projector, and acts as Santa when Christmas comes around, as a subtle thank you of sorts for freeing them from Lev Lynor's schemes. He provides the food for all of these events and they become fast friends once more, as if nothing has ever changed since that first Holy Grail War.

Between the next round of fried rice for everyone, he wonders if everything she remembers is locked away, somewhere beyond time and space.

* * *

"You are WRONG!" _(Galahad, no… you're…)_ Mash Kyrelight screams at the top of her lungs as she stomps closer and closer to the Goddess-King, even as the rest of Chaldea is forced to kneel by heavenly pressures. She does not repudiate the young shieldbearing Servant – she knew, deep down, that her ways of _'preserving humanity'_ would eventually lead to unrest this strong.

"I will not acknowledge the happiness that you offer!" The woman, the very striking image of Galahad's white-haired face _(when he's about to go on a tirade where he_ _ **knows**_ _he is in the right)_ stands tall, sheer willpower resisting any pull the king's songlike yet steely voice might possess.

"There are those who would throw their lives away to save their children! There are people who would mourn that loss!"

 _("Emiya Kiritsugu is a great person in your memories. But he is not like that in my memories.")_

"There is one who would raise his face and keep on living, believing that as long as he survives he can carry on his mother's life!"

 _("…To state it simply, he was a typical magus. He was only interested in his objectives and he eliminated everything in his way. I could not see any human emotion in him.")_

"The end is not meaningless. Life is something that continues on, not an ad hoc matter!"

 _("Kiritsugu. Please, tell her something." She starts to remember now, watching Diarmuid curse her fate as he impales himself with his spear. Kayneth El-Melloi, collapsed on top of his wife, begging for mercy, as she slits his throat to end Kiritsugu's torture of him.)_

"If you are the wild wave... the end of the world, as you say! Then I WILL fight you, with all my might!" Her words inspire the silver haired knight and Diarmuid beside their black-haired Master, one she has seen in dreams of another life, to go from kneeling to forcing themselves to stand, but their wills are still weak.

This is a battle between her and the shieldbearer. Or at least, that's what she thinks until she slightly tilts her head, letting a sword-shaped arrow pass by her neck. A tanned man in a red mage's garb, one she feels like she's seen before _,_ now stands behind the Shieldbearer, poised and ready for battle.

His eyes. She has seen those _eyes_ before, asking to understand, asking _"Why are you doing this?"_. But the lance tells her to _'silence yourself and focus on your goal to protect humanity'_ and she charges the rather shaky formation with Rhonghomyiad. Knights and hostile Servants alike are torn apart by the force of the spear, being slammed into the walls as she commands Dun Stallion to swerve against the castle platform and charge once more.

On the second charge, she is so focused on trying to remember where she has seen those brown eyes that she completely fails to realize that someone has thrust Excalibur into her side. It does not pierce flesh, but Excalibur remembers its owner, and she suddenly remembers Sir Bedivere.

Something within the divine lance snaps, and for a moment all she can hear is a flood of memories (" _And she has had only one wish, ever in her life – but there was something that made her want to choose differently.")_

* * *

She coughs and clutches her chest in pain, as if remembering that fateful day, the day King Arthur is meant to die on Camlann, and Archer watches the eerie green glow of her eyes become replaced with a much more natural, deep green tone.

"Be proud, Bedivere. You have indeed- fulfilled it, your king's order." She says to the knight that has helped them this whole time, and those are the only words she can manage before he finally disappears, his own abuse of Excalibur's power now paid back in full.

He wants to say something, but Da Vinci is making terrible jokes to Doctor Roman on the comms about disappearing and Mash is trying to relay to everyone that they're being pulled back into the normal timestream. King Artoria Pendragon, released from the song of the spear, immediately begins to tell Roman what she has seen of Solomon's attempts to upset history and clarifying her original plans.

It is not a concern of whether Saber- no, the King shall die, at rest on her throne. She has been a deity far too long to die so quickly. History must correct itself first, and the first step in that correction is to return the outsiders back to time they belong in.

"Thank you, Lion King! Next time, I'll give you a kiss of gratitude!" Roman jokes, and Artoria wryly smiles, casting at quick glance at the red-cloaked Archer before averting her gaze. He realizes she has been gazing anywhere but at him on purpose, or as an old friend would've put it, "trying way too hard to act disinterested."

He suspects it's his nature as a Counter Guardian that keeps him here after everyone else has faded away – leave it the Counter Force to want a cleanup agent on watch. Cú Chulainn _(now with a proper Gae Bolg)_ tries to make a joke before he returns, but his sense of humor is terrible as a Berserker and he settles for giving Emiya a rough clawed pat on the back.

* * *

The only people left in this room now are the Heroic Spirits Emiya and Artoria. She looks directly at him now, and he wonders if the welling he's feeling in his chest is the same as her's.

"Agravain comes back in an hour." She states matter-of-factly. "He'll-"

"-disappear one way or another, yeah." He stares back directly, carefully considering his words. "Do you remember anything?"

"I do." The golden haired king stares tiredly at Emiya – this is the first time in a long time she has looked that way. "You don't have to stand at attention, Red Archer." It's the best she can manage, without saying his true name.

"After all that time making everyone kneel just with talk, I think I'll pick standing." He replies with a chuckle. "Good grief, Goddess-King. How long have you wandered to get yourself into this miserable situation?"

"I believe I've lost count. My apologies." It is the smile _(a genuine smile that he had seen lifetimes ago - just not the first time, when it really counted)_ that convinces him that this is the person he has wanted to talk to, all this time. "It has been thousands of years since that oath, has it not?"

"Mm." He agrees softly, the mechanics of time travel be damned for once. It is bright day, as the sun slides softly over her shoulders, threatening to block out the view of the radiant woman he'd chased with its glow. "Whoa, don't disappear on me yet. You've got something you've wanted to say for a while, haven't you?"

"For as long as I have lived." She exhales quietly and looks down. "I am going to perish here with my ideals, Shirou. I am not sure it matters."

 _("A king is not human." He thinks. "One cannot protect the people with human emotions.")_

"You've fought for a long time, Saber." He starts, but the words just aren't there yet. "Was this how you wanted it to be?"

"I was not sure." She tries to laugh, but the pain in her chest is clearly spreading. Without the sacred spear, Artoria is dying again, as history dictates she should. "What about you, Shirou? Have you found peace pursuing your ideal?"

"Don't think so. I even tried to kill myself once." He answers honestly. His snarky wit is betrayed by a softer tone and the way he says _I_ – this is an _I_ reversed for that blue Saber in the kitchen, and only when no one else is present. _(That blue Saber, a copy with only the foggiest of remembrances.)_

"How foolish." She admonishes him, but with a kind tone. "It was not an attempt at self-termination you sought, but answers, is it not?"

"Yeah. In the end, I don't think there's a history where I won't move to save someone." He lets himself have a small smile. He won't bother asking how much she knew of that fight because he's about to ask the impossible. "Saber, you should come back with us."

"I do not believe that is possible, Shirou." She doesn't stop smiling, even as her voice takes a sorrowful tone. "Everything I have carried shall remain with me, as another flawed timeline set to be pruned."

As expected. "I'd have really liked it if you could." He exhales. She had waited on this shining, blood-stained throne for centuries, to verify if she was the chosen defender of human history, but also for someone that never arrived, to tell her that perhaps she was wrong in her cause. He had chased his ideal through time and space, through mountains of corpses but also the soft echoes of her image, blurred and distorted through other women, until it refocused on the one person that could've changed all that.

The sun was almost directly above their heads now, and he quietly stepped towards her throne as golden dust began to flicker from his finger tips. There's something they both need to affirm, before Artoria Pendragon is lost to time and what remains is only a faint echo of her life after her first death.

"Shirou…" She inhaled deeply, and placed her hand on his. "I love you."

He answers with a kiss on her lips that she returns. The affirmation holds for a second, before the sun directly hangs over them and his world goes dark.

* * *

"Artoria, I thought you were going to train-…"

He makes a noise from his throat as she walks in and sits down near him, the humming of the stove sending steam that whistles gently over the countertop.

"I believe they wanted to surprise you, Red Archer." Despite possessing Clairvoyance, the 30-year old Artoria quickly looks from side to side before taking a softer, more relaxed tone. "I think they have realized I would rather directly tell you that my Saint Graph is now whole, Shirou."

"And more, but they'll ambush us and we'll never hear the end of it." He chuckles.

"I have a lot to account for and I think they will at least grant me that privacy." Her formal tone is betrayed by a childish pout, her deep green eyes glowing not with sacred fire, but light frustration. Emiya realizes her sight is carefully following the fish he's put out to grill.

"Well, I have all the time in the world, it seems." He smirks. "But I want to ask a question first."

"Gladly."

"What would you like for dinner tonight, Saber?" The regal woman immediately answers and folds her mouth into a radiant smile, and Shirou Emiya realizes that the love of his life has truly come home.


	2. Side Story: Formal Wear

_This is an epilogue/side story of sorts based on some outtake scenes I had while writing the story. They all take part after part 1 of FGO so beware spoilers for that and Fate/Extra._

* * *

To say he was having an off day would have been an understatement. After S.E.R.A.P.H. and being re-summoned to Chaldea as the grim caricature of himself he was when hunting Kiara in life, he'd been rather on edge about just having the demonic bodhisattva in the organization's presence. Perhaps this aged, exhausted form altered his temperament more than he thought; Nero and Tamamo had a lot more trouble getting a raise out of him than usual and he was almost convinced Gilgamesh of all people was trying to hide a motivational speech in his usual mockery of the "Faker".

Nero had also decided to throw a fancy dress party to welcome the new Chaldean servants and celebrate the achievements of the old guard. He really did wonder what the point of them sticking around was if they were nothing more than a glorified cleanup crew, especially when he'd ended up on the wrong side of the cleanup twice.

His moody thoughts were interrupted by a hand on the brown straps of his pitch-black suit. Spinning around, his thin golden eyes met a pair of large piercing ones of the same color, accompanied by a runic tattooed pair of eyes not far behind.

"Enough of this, Shirou." Artoria Alter's brown jacket and tight black pants are clearly meant to pair with his outfit and her black horned crown. "We are going to Nero's Gala."

"I'm a little out of the mood for it, Saber." He tries to be gentle, but his voice is scratched with cynicism and flashbacks to a massacre he really did not want to remember.

"Neither are we." Cú Chulainn Alter's raspy voice grumbles as he adjusts his _glaringly pink_ tie that screams _this was the fastest way to shut Medb up._ "Her damn knights roped her in somehow."

"And you're trying to make me suffer the amusement of my friends." He dryly replies. "I'm still adjusting to this Saint Graph, Cú. It's an exciting time to be alive."

Artoria gives him a little squeeze on the shoulder and smirks. "You would not be the first to have had that privilege. Are you that concerned of souring the mood, Shirou?"

"Yes. I may also be missing a 'common theme' with everyone else." Even without the tainted nature of this Saint Graph affecting his demeanor, he'd have rolled his eyes at Nero's excited chatter about having the older Servants dressed based on their exploits – particularly the one that required those that fought in Okeanos to wear 'tasteful swimwear'.

"Oh, that's perfect then." Cú Alter gives him a toothy grin. "Our theme's gonna be 'Party Crashers'."

"Indeed. We shall take every opportunity to sour the mood, albeit only lightly." Artoria gently presses against him with a gentle smirk, pecking him on the cheek. "Think of it as our tribute to the fallen."

It's such a ridiculous idea that he can't help but laugh. "Alright, you two win. Feel free to drop the act if you start to enjoy yourself, though."

* * *

After effectively dodging Medb 50 times (he's counted because he has nothing better to do), Cú has finally been convinced to shed his upper suit coat, unfitting pink tie, and apparently even his Berserker class as the blue-vested Irishman cheerfully chats with Marie Antoinette and Sakata Kintoki over boar hunting, of all things.

He hasn't said much, mostly keeping to himself near one of the drink tables and occasionally humoring Nightingale with a scenario of removing a bullet. He names an angle of entry and a gun model, and she painstakingly describes the ideal procedure to remove and treat it. Nero and Tamamo have come over as well to chat (or perhaps the better term is "tease") him with Meltlilith's presence, and he manages to give a pretty decent impression of his usual self when he sees Gilgamesh almost trip over his own kimono in the back of the room.

"Pardon me." A rich, regal trill of an older woman interrupts his thoughts as he turns around to witness Artoria at her full height, draped in a white dress with sea green ribbons, two strokes of radiant gold hair draping down each side of her face like a graceful mane.

Even when forced into his old, bitter age, he has to admit she looks very beautiful.

"I trust you're not feeling too out of place, Shirou."

"I've had company." He answers and allows himself to smile a bit. "Decided you can make this party worth your while, Saber?"

"Perhaps." She gives him a warm smile, just like she had on that fateful day. "But I will need to ask you a question."

"Hm?" He quickly connects the dots as she does a slight curtsy.

"Will you dance with me?"

Yellow eyes meet green ones and he's starting to feel very amused now. For all the time they've spent fighting, have either of them learned to dance?

"I hope my combat movements are adaptable to it." He settles for a joke, replying with a slight bow to indicate that yes, he is okay and his thoughts haven't been locked on his failures this entire night.

"I hope so as well – I've Rin and Sakura to outperform now." She takes him by the hand, but it is clear to everyone on the dance floor that it soon becomes a paced fight for control. Both of them are in the mindset of trying to lead, but her slow, graceful movements somehow match the pace with his quick, reflexive ones and he's able to end by letting her spin out and pulling her back in tightly.

" _C'est très bien!"_ Marie calls from the back, as Mozart nods while flipping note pages. "I'd love to see more, Mr. Emiya."

He grumbles in amusement as the twin-black tailed hair of Tohsaka Rin, her eyes colored red with the influence of Ishtar, swoops towards them in a red kimono, with the blue woven dress of Sakura Matou, host of Parvati, not far behind. "This was your idea, wasn't it, Saber."

"Perhaps." Saber's replies, her back arching gently as she pecks him on the cheek. "You have a lot of catching up to do."


	3. Outtake Reel

_Other scenes that weren't fitting, big enough, or too crazy/OOC to have their own story._ _Some are serious and some are just me going "what if…?"_

 _Once again, FGO Part 1 and Fate/Extra spoilers may be present!_

* * *

 _Solomon_

"How long have you known?" Is the first he question he asks her that day, on the first breakfast after it's all over. They're still in mourning while the Mage's Organization reorganizes; it is one thing for a Heroic Spirit to die, and it is another to erase themselves from the Throne.

"I witnessed it since I began to rule over Camelot. My possession of Clairvoyance made it quite easy to deduce Goetia's motives."

He would've never guessed that the bumbling doctor that acted as their navigator was such a man, but the more he looked back at it, the more the strange familiarity with Merlin and Gilgamesh stood out.

 _(And her.)_ He thinks of Roman's teasing remark over a kiss.

He wonders if she's decided to use her new future sight to tease him because another one of _those_ smiles flits over her face. "I am fairly certain the King of Magic did not want to be dragged to terribly made movies and told to keep his shirt off, Shirou."

"I can see that now, yeah." He leans against the countertop and looks at the ceiling. "All of that nonsensical behavior was really just a front to keep some distance from everyone."

"Indeed." Her smile wanes slightly as she picks at the udon Emiya has set down for her. "He assumed incorrectly that we would still not get attached."

* * *

 _Image_

This S.E.R.A.P.H. is as he remembers it, with one exception – it is devoid of life, artificial or otherwise. Diamond-like security programs spawn endlessly as Ritsuka and Gudako issue tactical commands, having Artoria charge at the source with BB in tow to "hopefully" disable it. Fergus slams Caladbog against the floor, a massive explosion rocketing across the crowd of enemies as Emiya follows up by firing explosive imitations of the Irish sword.

"We require a diversion." Artoria's voice crackles over the comms. "I cannot land a direct hit with Rhon while our foes recognize it as our main form of offense."

He suspects the Masters could turn the tide, but while they were still recovering from the last expedition and he didn't want them to risk their already weak Magic Circuits.

This is close enough to the Moon Cell that he has a pretty reliable alternative in terms of firepower – that is, if Tamamo can make sure his own Magic Circuits don't explode. A quick nod on her part confirms that she can, and he wastes no time with the chant of Unlimited Blade Works.

However, he adds one line that very few of his allies have heard in the past.

" _This sword's light is for the king who can never be reached."_ He chants, concentrating every trace of mana he can muster into his right hand. The unstable copy is far from perfect, but he'll count the fact he's still standing as a success.

" _EXCALIBUR IMAGE!"_

Artoria's narrow green eyes are a mix of curiosity and concern as she rides back towards him, but she relents silently as Tamamo helps him hobble back to the Rayshift area.

He wonders what her reaction will be when he tells her he's hit Gawain with this many times in the past.

* * *

 _The Sequel_

"ALRIGHT!" She blares into the camera, with an attitude he will _never_ get used to Saber having as she readjusts her fake glasses and slaps hot chocolate on top of her "Chocolate Artorium-fuelled" Kotatsu. "Everyone, we will commence making the sequel to Saber Wars today! In the spirit of the shows that awaken Magical Force through powers of love, we shall make it yet another chocolate homunculus slaying session!"

He _really_ does not want to know how she came to that conclusion (or how Nursery Rhyme manages to waste so much perfectly edible chocolate, for that matter). His best guess is that with or without her full memories, Saber will always have a passion for holidays where she can eat all the delicious sweets she wants.

* * *

 _Hakuno_

"I am still completely baffled as to how Hakuno Kishinami could handle such contradictory Servants." Artoria confesses to him as they both steal a glance at Nero and Gilgamesh trying to have another strange wealth-based faceoff.

"Well, to be honest, it was more of a parallel timeline incident." He admits, deciding to save the story of his first failure with Hakuno for another day. "Once we all occupied the same Moon Cell, we ended up at each other's throats."

"I believe I might be able to see why, Shirou." Artoria tries to suppress a rare chuckle, but he notices. "You are all very much alike in temperament."

"What?"

"All four of you are stubborn and possess a great love for a personalized view of heroics." She chuckles. "It just so happens that they all acceptably coincide with 'Saving a worthy ally's life.'"

* * *

 _Shiki_

"Do you ever wonder why we we're the only _normal_ people from modern times that qualified as Heroic Spirits?" He grumbles as Robin shoots a poisoned arrow at a hitman while Artoria speeds by, throwing Ritsuka onto her motorcycle as Shiki peeks from behind the cover of the wall. "Not counting alternate timelines, forced Singularity what-ifs, or anything remotely related to BB."

"I apparently had a third personality that's connected to the magical center of the world." She snarks back, throwing a knife at an unseen line of death. It snaps, and the cerberus charging them falls on the spot, eyes glazed in death. "What's your excuse?"

"Counter Guardian. Sold my soul to said world thinking I'd help people."

Shiki laughs at this. "I'll take Touko over the world bossing me aroun- owwww. My toe!" She's the only one that can't see her ghostly other self snickering as she conveniently deflects all the bullets still headed for the main Shiki's head. "Not helping your point, world."

"Don't move! I've got one of your buddies hostage!" The guard yells, dragging out a girl and holding a gun to her head. The purple hair and red eyes sort of resemble Sakura, but Shiki's groan informs him better than any question could.

"Comrade of yours?" He asks, casually lodging an arrow in the man's head as he leaps over to rescue what he suspects is a _very_ inexperienced Counter Guardian.

"More like bridge-wrecking kaiju." She steps out into the deserted alleyway as Robin gives the "all clear" signal. "Alright, Fujino, what the hell are _you_ doing in 20th century Shinjuku? "


	4. Legacy

_Hey everyone! I enjoyed writing this fic so much that I decided I wanted to try and write an extra chapter for it. If I do future chapters like these, they probably will still feature Emiya and Lancer Artoria. However, there will be a bit more focus on how they interact with other Servants since the original story served to bring Archer's original "route" in FSN/Artoria's role in Camelot's Singularity to a close.  
_

 _I also stumbled across some rough translations of Camelot/Zero, in which I learned that Gareth died fighting_ _ **for**_ _Artoria in FGO canon. I decided that would make an interesting plot element to revisit so I've tried to include it in this chapter._

 _This particular story takes place between Camelot and the first summer beach event, so spoilers for Fate Grand Order's Camelot singularity apply!_

 _That said, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!_

* * *

 _The lance lied._

 _She recalls Gareth's crying face as she performs a needless sacrifice against the revived Richard the Lionheart._

 _The Servants on both sides grapple with the task destiny has forced onto them. Richard, his golden mane stained once more with blood, simply digs his sword deeper into Gareth, technically following Amon's order to "oppose King Arthur". He is living his worst nightmare, and his tearful face begs for someone, anyone, to finish Gareth's deed. Her empty face grits as she pushes the blade further and she sees the blood splatter drop by drop against the desert sand._

 _The Knights of the Round Table have already killed so many like them (and many that were theirs). Even if they Heroic Spirits in body, they are human in mind (except the Goddess, whose mind has already been warped by merely becoming divine)._

 _Even so, her mind whirls furiously as she scrys the future, searching for an outcome in which Gareth does not die. She would much rather Gareth submits to the brainwashing of the spear if it means a powerful servant can remain at her side._

" _Tristan, send an arrow around her eye-"_

" _My lord." Agravain's voice echoes in her head. "Gawain, the field commander for Operation Carnwennan, had to act before Richard freed himself."_

 _Oh, god. ('But you have become god.' The spear trills inquisitively. 'Why ponder like a human?')_

" _What is Gareth's status?" It is not a question. It was the first future she scryed into, but she asks anyway because a king must be there for her subjects._

" _Sir Gareth is no longer with us." Agravain quietly replies. "Her death was not in vain."_

" _Except it was." Artoria hears Mordred muttering over the connection, as she sees her son clench Clarent furiously. Only Tristan shows no reaction; the brainwashing he asked for has dulled his senses to even the most heartless murder._

 _Gareth's face suddenly morphs into Mordred's, Rhongomyniad singing from her chest 'For humanity! For Camelot! For the righteous goddess-king!'_

 _And 30 year old Artoria Pendragon screams in rage, beating her fists against the castle walls, as she wakes up at 2 AM in the morning and realizes her metal bedpost has a noticeable dent in it._

* * *

 _("Come on, you guys must do something for bonding." Gudako scratches behind her ear thoughtfully, looking up from the king's chest to her eyes "Sorry, had a bad idea for a joke." She giggles, her orange eyes burning with energy. "How about sparring? You guys wouldn't be the first group we've had that prefers talking with their fists.")_

This is the first training exercise Chaldea's Knights of the Round Table have had together since Camelot's blood-soaked days were put behind them.

Unbeknownst to most of them, Artoria has spoken with Lancelot beforehand on what he thinks is the best way to go about this affair. The cold, business-like killing of each other _(for humanity's survival, she grimly reminds herself)_ still rings in all their minds as one of their darkest days as Servants, and she wants to avoid a repeat of that, mocked or otherwise.

"My King, I appreciate that you wish to hear my words on the situation." Lancelot stirs his swallow's nest soup _(an apparent delicacy in China, according to Shirou)_ awkwardly, his purple eyes flickering from side to side as if he's expecting someone to grab his black shirt clad shoulder. "But why your most disloyal knight, of all people?"

She sighs and crosses her blue sleeved arms, thinking back to that fateful moment when she identified the Berserker of the Fourth Holy Grail War. _(The day her desire changed from "I wish to prevent Britain's fall" to "I wish I had not been chosen to rule")_

King Arthur – no, _Artoria_ needs to get this right. From what she recalls from their incomplete Chaldean copies, her younger self could only avoid the maddened knight as he was only capable of screaming her name and attacking her in what was no doubt fate's cruel way of mocking their history in the Fourth War.

"Lancelot, I wish to speak to you not just as a knight, but as a friend." She exhales and recites the reasons in her head. "I have long forgiven your disloyalty, and ask because I feel you are the only one who can offer an open mind on the situation."

The purple-haired knight stops looking around like a lost hound and stares directly at her at this. "Bedivere would certainly be a better judge of-"

"Bedivere was not present when we all sat at the Round Table, and knew in our hearts that we would not agree over my proposal to save humanity. His burden is of a different kind. "

 _("We're still trying to adjust Airgetlám to not rupture his soul after several hours of use." Da Vinci had told her. If only Merlin wasn't still locked up in Avalon. "Until then, he will be having nightmares for quite a while.")_

She exhales gently, and tries not to think of her own nightmares. "Lancelot, aside from Agravain, who is currently not present," _(and likely would not answer the World's call, because his only loyalty can be to King Arthur, she thinks)_ "You were the only one who essentially asked to stay open in mind despite the atrocities we committed."

"Mordred did not ask for a gift, either."

"Mordred's actions are….hard for me to comprehend, Lancelot. Why else did you think I forced a Gift on her and led her astray?" It is not tasteful of her to describe it that way, but she suspects her incomplete Chaldean copy avoided the Knight of Rebellion for the same reason.

( _She is many things – an honored king, a beautiful lover, a hero with unrivaled resolve. She has no idea how to be a father, let alone one of a bastard child._ )

"Then surely, Tristan or Gawain are better-"

If anything can cloud Lancelot's judgement, it is that subtle deprecation of his own worth. She decides to get to the point. "Lancelot, you went and saved lives while Tristan begged me to brainwash him, and we all know of the many things Gawain is, an unbiased advisor he is not." She leans across slightly and puts her hand on his – a gesture unbecoming of the king, but a gesture familiar to her from the 21st century. Thankfully, he does not pull away.

"You are also the only Knight of the Round table I have fought properly with as a Servant." She continues slowly, making sure he understands she is not trying to berate him. "If there is anyone I could create a proper training exercise with, it needs to be someone who I can discuss my ideas with, be it as a knight or a servant."

He nods his head, shoulders relaxing a bit. "Of course. Forgive me my king; it is so easy to doubt myself when I have turned against you every time."

"That is precisely why I want you to help me plan." She smiles, her eyes shimmering with hope from her younger days. "If anything goes wrong, we will all be there."

Had she left her Clairvoyance on, she would have seen Mordred sliding back into Chaldea's white hallways, muttering in frustration.

* * *

It is 1994 in Fuyuki, and the docks are quiet at midnight. A gleaming red bridge stands in the distance as Mash Kyrielight, settled upon as the mediator _(because otherwise Artoria would be watching, and Galahad seems to think she is too distant)_ scans the simulated horizon, keeping watch for a VIP.

The first sign of engagement is not a clash of swords as expected, but a loud explosion as Artoria Pendragon, Assassin-class servant, flies out of the eastern most warehouse and rolls behind some crates.

Precise aim with a firearm is something she expects from Kiritsugu, but Lancelot's Knight of Honor skill is free from the chains of madness and a direct counter to her own prepared wildcard.

 _("We of the Round seem easily upset by unorthodox tactics," she had claimed, throwing an amused glance at Gawain's slightly dumbfounded face. "I would like each of you to try to invent something of your own for the skirmish.")_

She curses and wraps her blue scarf around her leg to set it, using a light charge of mana to set it back in place. Modifying her Saint Graph back to her younger body had been the right call – Lancelot's first rubber bullet had sailed far over her head and in his haste to adjust he had fired with poor aim and excessive mana reinforcement.

"This is MHX. Virtue 2, have you secured an LZ?"She had instilled Kiritsugu's military jargon in the Enforcement Knights, but this is the first time in centuries she has used it. "I have the package but I'm under suppressing fire."

"Virtue 2 reporting, my King."Gawain's voice crackled back under the simulated Chaldea communications. "I apologize but am currently under fire from an impatient musician."

"I have no idea who this King is." She sarcastically replied, dropping her voice as low as she can force it. "My codename is MHX and my goal is to slay all the Sabers. That will include you, Virtue 2, if you and Tristan continue this horseplay."

"Yes, my K- MHX." Gawain replies hastily, and the clang of swords can be heard along with Tristan's gentle laughter as the communications cut out. If nothing else, it is clear the tragic knight of the bow has been grateful for Chaldea's much friendlier environment.

"This is Virtue 1!" Mordred's voice suddenly interrupts, as a loud burst of lighting from Clarent suddenly topples a whole row of warehouses further back. "The sad old eggplant is gonna regret not charging in now. Move, King of Knights!"

She would groan at Mordred's complete failure to follow the protocol had she not observed the rather impersonal reference in that remark. _(This is ridiculous. Go ahead and tell her it's okay to call you Father. You have to start somewhere.)_

She settles for slipping out the holy dagger from her chest pocket instead and pulsing mana into it. Carnwennan shimmers with light and bends the rays of the moon at angles that defy the laws of physics, and suddenly, it is as if Artoria has never been on the battlefield.

"MHX here, Saber Ninjutsu Art active." She fakes a grumble, but it is her best attempt to have some levity about the situation. _(Will Mordred understand that, though?)_ "Virtue 1, where are you located?"

"Ahhh…. somewhere between the big brown boat and the small black one?" Her voice is rough like sandpaper, but if you listen closely, she too possesses Artoria's regal tone. _(Medea once threw her hands up in frustration over the sheer dissonance, stating that it was like Mordred tried to be everything Artoria wasn't in manners.)_

"Got it Virtue 1. En route to your location." The small king lithely hops over crates and onto the roof of a warehouse, scanning under her baseball cap for signs of her knight _(and son)._ If she squints hard enough, she can see Lancelot scrambling to find a new vantage point, only for a gigantic burst of lightning to blow apart the next warehouse he climbs up on. At the rate Mordred is firing Clarent, there won't be anything left of the port.

 _(Like father, like son.)_

She swallows that thought and begins stealthily creeping towards the lightning bursts when she hears Bedivere's soft, firm voice.

" _Swordfish, I've engaged the enemy that's been intercepting you. Reposition and get a shot on MHX."_

Leave it to Bedivere to follow the training protocol even when she has thrown it to the wind in exasperation.

" _Roger that, Cyborg."_ Lancelot doesn't realize that he's right above her now, as she presses against the wall. His sniper rifle will not get an effective shot in at this range. _"Attempting to relocate the target package."_

Artoria sneaks towards the alleyway, almost certain of Mordred's location, only to slide back behind a ruined warehouse wall as Bedivere rockets past her, Airgetlám propelling his sword towards Mordred's head. The rough-shod blonde knight smirks as her helmet slides up around her by some mental command, taking the brunt of the hit as she slams the flat of Clarent's blade into Bedivere's stomach.

"Virtue 1, take another hit like that and you'll be waking up to your Masters in the infirmary." She chides, almost out of instinct. "Use the enemy as leverage, catch him on you bla-"

"I know what I'm doing, damnit, Father." More personal, but the reference to her is still forced. "Lemme beat the third-rate knight the way I want and I'll lift you up and drag ya home."

Artoria decides not to tell Mordred that they're currently the same height. Instead, she observes the clash of the two knights, Bedivere's thrusts and ripostes gracefully finding holes in Mordred's large, intimidating swings. At one point she heard Mordred mutter "Screw this" and aim a kick at Bedivere's groin – the silver haired knight is thankfully smart enough to use his magical arm to rocket upwards into the air, landing on his feet and back into another thrust on Mordred.

"Are you faring alright, Sir Mordred?" Lancelot calls out on top of the warehouse, watching the battle through his sniper rifle's scope. He too has clearly become intrigued by Bedivere's creative use of the artificial limb. "Perhaps the groin is not-"

"If anything, it'd be more appropriate for you, ya sour eggplant!" Mordred yells, slamming Clarent into the floor and cracking the ground into jagged pieces. This causes Bedivere to struggle to regain footing – Artoria silently notes to tell him not to rely excessively on familiar stances when the enemy does not fight like a swordsman.

For now, she lets Bedivere lunge to his doom, clearly a reflexive (and desperate) attempt to overwhelm his opponent with a surprise offense. Lancelot will probably have to cover his retre-

The sickening _squish_ of a blade against guts is heard as Mordred pulls Bedivere's sword into her stomach, and holds Clarent against his neck.

 _(Her tear stained face, her hands reaching out, her mouthing of the same word over and over as she turns, "Father… father…father…")_

"This is the cursed sword that destroyed my Father." Mordred begins her chant through gritted teeth, sparks searing her cheeks. No blood spills from her wound, but Artoria doesn't notice that as she runs out straight towards Mordred, tackling her.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Armored fists instinctively raise up, beating against her back, but the King of Knights is no stranger to taking blows beyond what she should be able to sustain, letting Avalon pulse through her and regenerating bruises away as wraps her scarf around the wound and slides out the sword with divinity-aided accuracy.

It is then that she realizes the wound is almost nonexistent and stops just before Mordred's fist hits her face. Her son stops midway, lowering it as she realizes it's not Tristan.

"Fa-"

"What were you _thinking_." Artoria interrupts, her voice now cold as the steel of her dagger.

"But I-"

"I do not care!" She shouts, holding back an impulse to cry. "When I asked for unusual tactics I did not mean try to get yourself killed!"

Mordred shoves her off, and Artoria doesn't fight back, breathing weakly as she falls into a sitting position. Her son dissipates her grey-red armor, revealing a necklace with a pair of odd shades hanging from it.

"This…." Mordred tries to speak, choking on what seems to be exhaustion _(but it is very clear she is a disappointed child trying not to cry)_. "This is a Craft Essence called Necromancy. My first Master was the last guy who knew how to use that magic stuff with it properly. I was hoping to show you…"

She breaks off and runs past Gawain and Tristan, towards the exit door of the simulation room. They nervously look at each other, then back to their King, who is still sitting beside a downcast looking Bedivere and Lancelot.

Mash nervously slips down from her perch on the observers deck and gently strides to her surrogate father's side. "Um…. King Arthur, I don't know if this is my place to state it…"

"No, speak." She replies, taking off her baseball cap and putting Carnwennan back in its sheath. "You have proven yourself more than worthy, and not just as a knight."

"I think you really need to talk to her." Mash kneads her hands, her brows knitted in remembrance. "When she first came to Chaldea, you both had this weird silent agreement to stay out of each other's way. At first I assumed it was natural discomfort, but…"

( _"Yeah, I'll gladly die!" She witnesses Mordred yelling at Mash in her visions. "After all, Father's planning to create a world where there won't be any need for knights!")_

"I understand." Artoria gets up and slowly strides out of the room. "My feelings or not, this silence cannot continue, for both the sake of Chaldea and the Knights."

 _("And for our own sake as well."_ _ _She silently adds, as she checks over Bedivere and reassures him that he is not at fault._ )_

* * *

Artoria's first attempt to talk is met with a door slam and halfhearted curses about not crying. The king, now back at her full, commanding height, shifts awkwardly against the wall, her arms folded below her breasts.

"It's almost midnight, you know." A flash of a different shade of red is caught in the corner of her eye, and a tanned hand extends her some hot cocoa. "You should get some rest."

The eyes are narrower, and the hair is certainly all wrong, but Shirou's golden brown eyes will never change. That said, they don't stop her eyes from trailing down to the burn wound on his left hand.

"Ah." He awkwardly stutters, as if he's that teenage boy that's _dares_ tell her they're fasting all over again. "That was just a wyvern breathing fire at a girl. Had to get her out of the way."

"As long as you take care of yourself." She takes a sip of the hot chocolate, made to the perfect temperature and with the exact amount of sweetness she likes. "Did you ever have a night like this?"

He responds by patting her head. "If I did, I can't remember, honestly." He shakes his head thoughtfully. "You won't make any progress like this, Saber. A night's rest is good for any kind of combat, you know."

"Yes mom." She drawls playfully, as he rolls his eyes. "Come now, you have to admit it's a charming nickname from the children."

"Of all the things I've seen in my life, I never I thought I'd draw the line at being called 'Mom'." He groans, sliding his hand over his hair.

"It is alright, Shirou." She smiles softly and pecks him on the cheek. "After all, I suppose this is my first attempt to be a real Father."

He grumbles and playfully throws a red blanket onto her – it drapes around her shoulders like a vibrant cloak. "Go to bed, Saber, or Mordred is going to be very confused when she meets her 'mom' in the morning."

* * *

" _So if you couldn't see the Masters face to face on anything, will you start purging humans and trapping them within your Rhongomyniad again?" Doctor Roman's passive, yet pointed voice is more than just 'a man concerned for his family'._

 _For his sake, she does not change the way she addresses him._

" _That is too far of an insinuation, even for you of all people." Her eyes flicker briefly with the sacred green fire of the lance; it is a warning. "We have already fought a tired and pained war to ascertain that I wished for the same salvation but used unforgivable methods. I do not wish to tear Chaldea apart by revisiting those sentiments."_

" _You are correct. My apologies." He rubs his wedding ring, narrowing his eyes as he sips his coffee. Even the great Da Vinci can be sometimes taken in by his false aura of incompetence – it is telling that he does not bother with it in her presence. "I'm mainly worried about your lack of communication. Ritsuka and Gudako are adaptable, but the memory of Camelot is fresh on everyone else's minds. Boudica in particular feels you need to strike more of a chord with those under you; doubly so if we are going to need larger deployments for Babylon."_

 _Thankfully, this dream is just a remembrance, and Merlin does not send Romulus and Ritsuka after her again to embarrass her with a half-serious proposal._

* * *

"I don't know how to relate to her." It slips out of her mouth at she puts down her coffee, staring at the sketchbook of one very grumpy Jeanne Alter. The sketch is unflatteringly titled _"What if Mordred grew up?"_ , but there is no doubting the anatomy and shading.

 _(Had she been born into a boring, ordinary, life, she would've been hailed as the next Da Vinci.)_ Artoria thinks.

"Hah?" Jeanne Alter snaps in surprise, quickly recomposing herself with an instinctive sneer. "Having mommy issues, your Heartless Highness?"

"That's fresh, coming from someone who believes Gilles de Rais is a loving father." She retorts. When it comes to the black-clothed saint, all bets of formality are off. "I could blast down the dormitory wall, but I actually care about the defenses of my allies."

"Maybe that's your problem." Jeanne Alter grumbles, sliding her pens to the side as she closes her book, spearing a frog's leg on her plate with a rough push.

"I don't remember asking for your advice to begin with, board game geek." She smirks, recalling a faint promise of Christmas revenge just for that barb. "If anything, I bet your 'sister' would be happy to aid me."

" _Ta gueule_ , I'm serious." Jeanne Alter downs a glass of chocolate milk and slaps it on the table. "You talk to me better than you talk to your own kid, you tin can. Doesn't that bother you?"

"Considering that you're technically one year old, you have a point there." Artoria sighs and looks outside, watching the snowfall on the mountains of Chaldea. "So why do you enjoy my company?"

"Well, we're not all that different at heart." Jeanne Alter replies, poking a finger on Artoria's dark blue vest. "I'll be honest, I expected to have nothing in common with you, but there's something amusing about knowing King Arthur was also just a girl forced into a role she wasn't really sure how to play."

It would have been an insult from anyone else, but from a clone created solely to destroy history, Artoria understands her unofficial rival is speaking from her heart.

"Your point is that Mordred isn't all that different."

"Well, she probably got fed ten times the amount of lies we did, but yeah." Jeanne Alter stands up, tucking her sketchbook under her black wool sweater. "Get your head out of the mud and dive all the way in, Artoria. You always end up overthinking about whether you should act as a total friend or a total stranger and you know it's not that simple."

"I see. So, refrain from thinking?" Artoria raises her eyebrow coyly, her elbows on the table and her hands placed across her mouth.

"How else could you deal with me?" The pale haired witch laughs, presumably walking off to ponder if she should sketch Ritsuka a third time.

* * *

Much to her and Fran's surprise, Mordred is not in London. Instead, Jekyll sighs and readjusts his glasses, peering over at his empty fridge as he puts down a dusty book, likely from the 1888 Clock Tower.

"I think she expected people were going to start chasing after her, so she said something about 'going somewhere Father wouldn't want to look at.'" Fran nods and an unspoken message seems to pass between the bespectacled doctor and the veiled cyborg as she runs out to help Babbage track anachronisms.

"I'm fairly certain Camlann isn't accessible to us right now." Artoria nods silently in agreement, she already knows what he's going to ask next, even without using Clairvoyance.

"What's the most likely place that you think King Arthur would take for granted?"

* * *

The castle once covered in veils of snow is now a ruin littered with ash and embers.

Shirou had come here to pay respects to Illya – the first time he had done so since the Singularity of 1960's Fuyuki had been resolved. Only the charred remains of the disrupted Fuyuki of 2004 remain, and he is loathe to admit it but his heart cracks slightly whenever he leaps past the remains of a burnt home _(his first, but not last home)_ towards another rooftop.

 _("If we'd come here in the first place, we wouldn't have had to walk around all day." He'd dryly chastised Rin once, in a Holy Grail War that has been wiped from the face of history.)_

( _"All you can get from up here is a panoramic view of the city," she'd replied, confident as ever. "You can't get a feel for how the city is laid out until you've been there in person."_ )

"If only you could see Fuyuki now, Tohsaka." He sighs and leaps onto the road, the memory of slamming a door on her fresh in his mind. "Something to fight for, at least. For Fuji-nee, Sakura, and everyone else, too…"

"What the hell is with this sappy mess?" Shirou stiffens and whirls around, Kanshou and Byakuya at the ready, only to meet the tear-dried face of Mordred, clad in a loose red jacket and jean shorts.

"Interesting place to choose for a stroll." He replies in amusement, crossing his arms. "I'm afraid I already cleared the place of any threats a long time ago, though."

 _("Make sure no phantasmal beasts intrude in on this place." The blackened Saber tells him, determination set in her eyes when she is certain Lev Lynor isn't looking. "Chaldea has the right to prove their strength against us.")_

"I didn't even think people bothered to kick around here." Mordred replied roughly, her voice slightly hoarse from what had probably been a long night of frustrated crying. "What makes this place so special to you, 'Mom'?"

The tanned Archer sighs at this remark, but decides to leave it for another day. Just like Artoria, there's really no point in dodging questions with the red-clad Saber.

"It's where I lived, and where I died." It's a half truth, blurred by the span of multiple timelines, but it will do. "I came to pay respects to someone else that passed away here."

"Ah." Mordred is fidgeting now, but eventually settles on blurting it out. "Didn't Father die with you here once?"

Shirou knows she's referring to the battle of Singularity F, but…

 _("Ah….Shirou?" The tainted Saber speaks in a daze, having hit her head.)_

 _(In another life, Shirou has no choice but to plunge the Azoth Dagger into her neck.)_

"Twice, actually." He replies, the smoke of the eternally burning buildings wafting into his nose. "Killing her was the hardest thing I'd ever done."

"How come she gets along with you so well?" Mordred grumbles, stomping her foot into the ground as if trying to process the dissonance in what she's heard and what she's seen. "You've got no history, reputation, or record that's worth a damn. For all I know, Father sees you as some country bumpkin."

"You're probably right about that." He replies. "But…"

* * *

 _"You have to find your own happiness." He pleads, hugging her tightly,  
"You've fulfilled your oath, so you can return to being Artoria. "_

 _She hangs her head, wanting to accept the declaration of love that comes after._

 _"…My answer will not change. I cannot break my oath as a king."_

* * *

"…your father craved that sense of normalcy, you know." He chooses his words carefully. Technically, Mordred isn't his child, but he suspects Saber could use the support when it came to parenting. "She'd lived both a life and an afterlife pursuing the ideal of being a king, for the sake of bettering her country."

Mordred only quietly stares at him with barely hidden curiosity, so he continues. "I wasn't even half the man she was, in many ways. I wanted to save 'people', but I had a much less concrete idea of what "everyone" meant."

 _("Shirou - you are like me. That is why I can tell you what you have done wrong.")_

He inhales and surveys the flames. "I deeply admired her drive to fulfill her oath, but in the end, what mattered the most to me was seeing her happy as a person."

Mordred seems to understand this, materializing Clarent, but quietly sticking it into the ground. "I think I wanted that, too, but I never really got a chance to please her."

"It's hard to when you're kept distant by everything." He admits. "I may have only fought with her for two weeks, but those two weeks were a battle for survival. We made a lot of mistakes, learned what made each other tick…all the things partners do, I suppose."

"Sounds like my first Master." She laughs harshly. "Kairi made the mistake of calling me a girl when I summoned him. The guy had a real good reason to want the Grail, though, and every other Master in the Grail War was an ass. I let myself die at his side."

"Spoken like a true knight, huh." He notes, noting Mordred's eyes glimmer with sentiment.

"Yeah." She gives a large, toothy grin. "He had this sort of reckless fighting style and a sharp tongue. Couldn't have asked for a better Master."

Something clicks in his mind, and Shirou thinks he's starting to see where the gap in Mordred and Saber's relationship lies.

"You know, Mordred, Sa- your dad does have a bit of a rough, sweet sense of humor." It's going to take him a while to get used to Mordred's way of addressing his love. "But it's not something that comes instinctively to her – she needs to be eased into it."

* * *

Fuyuki's ash-black winds whistle with faint whispers of voices long forgotten in her heart as Dun Stallion gallops onto the scorched earth.

In her brilliant, white armor, Artoria Pendragon sticks out just as blatantly as she did in the scorched deserts surrounding Jerusalem. Her son is a much better fit, red jacketed back facing her as she glances upon the burnt remains of what appears to be a dojo.

"Ya lived here once, right?" The brash knight speaks up, not daring to look at the woman behind her.

 _(It has been so long, and yet she can taste rice, hot soup, and fried shrimp on the tip of her tongue, all at once.)_

"A long time ago, yes." Artoria tries to smile slightly _(because this is just as important as it was with Lancelot, if not more)_ , stepping down from her mount and dismissing it back into spirit form. "Mordred, if there's anything you want to say to me…"

"I've got a lot, yeah." The roughshod knight turns around, tilting her head upwards to look at her face. Burning sea-green eyes meet each other for seconds that seem to be hours, and then she takes another heavy breath. "But to be honest, I feel like every time I bring it up, I'm either going to scream it straight to your face or run away because I don't know what to feel."

"So what do you want to talk about, then?" Artoria tries to relax, but in truth, she's uncertain of her son's motive.

"I… just want to know you." Mordred shuffles about awkwardly. "I just…have to start somewhere, right, Father? Given all terrible things in the past, I was hoping seeing where you lived might help, but ah, it's all a wreck..."

 _(_ " _Get your head out of the mud and dive all the way in, Artoria.")_

The king slips an arm around her son, pulling Mordred gently against her side. "…son, would you like to hear about the time I thought a raincoat was a perfect infiltration outfit?"

It's not quite the makeup she imagined, but judging by Mordred's small smile, it's a good start.

* * *

"Is it true that Mom almost tricked you into not eating for a day?" Mordred queries sometime later. A rough, more certain smile is on her face now as she and her father sit on the dark porch, watching the flames flicker quietly in the night.

She lets her eyes flare with mock anger in response. "I hope he also told you I gave him a sound strike on the head at training that day for such blapshemy."

"That sounds like you alright, Father." Mordred laughs at the bizarre moments they've shared of Grail Wars new and old, at plans for the future, at a complicated situation with an old father and a new mother.

Someday, they will have a more serious talk over grievances fighting to the death, and everything they couldn't speak of within the span of the tumultuous months of Camelot's fall.

 _(For now,)_ Artoria thinks, _(It's more important that we know we won't run away from each other.)_

* * *

" _By the way, Father….um…. do you know anything about how to swim?"_

 _Artoria almost jolts awake in shock at the question. For someone gifted with the ability to walk on water, she hadn't given such a question much thought._

" _W-w-well, it's supposed to be summer soon and that Da Vinci lady keeps mentioning a "super secret ocean side vacation, so…" Mordred stutters, unsure of how to take her father's silence_

 _The truth is that Artoria's last attempt at swimming was several lifetimes ago, and she'd rather not remember the number of times Shirou had to dunk her under the pool._

" _I'm not sure if I could be an effective instructor, but…perhaps a floatation device could help?"_

" _Like... a miniature ship?" Mordred's cocky grin does not bear good tidings. "Father, do you think you could rebuild the Prydwen with your lance?!"_

" _Mordred, being on a ship isn't going to help you learn movements in the water."_

" _A-aah, yeah. How about maybe… a gauntlet? Or maybe something like an enchanted sea saddle?"_

"… _Mordred, I love you deeply, but I can't even begin to imagine perverting Prydwen into something like that."_

" _But Father, Fran and Boudica and everyone are gonna be there an…"_

" _I'll consider it." Artoria does her best to smile, though innately she's thinking of ways not to endear Mordred to her own bad habits in the water._

 _She doesn't use Clairvoyance out of sheer embarrassment of what she might witness. However, if she had peeked at the future, she would've witnessed a father and her son splashing each other happily in the warm ocean water, passionately arguing over the blueprints of Chaldea's Temporary Summer Resort._


End file.
